


After

by Cuppa_Char



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotp-Sterek, Episode: s03e23 Insatiable, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s03e23 Insatiable, Protective Derek, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuppa_Char/pseuds/Cuppa_Char
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything can change in an instant.</p><p>Everything. </p><p>And then there was only before and after</p><p>---</p><p>  <i> “Get up,” Scott orders angrily, pulling his arm out of her hold. “Get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”</i><br/>And Stiles does. At least he tries, all shaking limbs of him.</p><p>  <i>“Stop it,” Derek orders both of them, partly because Stiles was currently as weak as a kitten and hardly in any fit state to deal with an Alpha caught up in his own grief. It was the grief that was talking, Derek was sure of it, but Stiles fragility and vulnerability made him more than susceptible to the meaning behind the words. </i></p><p>(Post Insatiable - missing/alternative scene)</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChasetheWindTouchtheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasetheWindTouchtheSky/gifts).



> So, I just got a sudden, burning need for some TLC-Sterek style after S3E23 Insatiable. So it's canon divergent obviously. And angst. A lot of it. Gifted to ChasetheTouchtheSky 'cause I know she loves brotp Sterek.

_Everything can change in an instant._

_Everything._

_And then there was only before and after_

_Phyllis Reynolds Naylor_

He gets there after.

Moments too late.

Mere minutes after it had happened.

Argent is already there, standing in shock, unable to move any further. He turns and shakes his head, biting his lip in grief, as Derek looks on shocked. Tears spill down the man’s face and catch on his quivering chin.

Kira and her mother are helping a struggling Lydia drag a half-conscious Stiles from the tunnels, her own shaking and sobbing form doing nothing to assist the trio.

Isaac’s still sprawled on the floor, a shock of red splattering his face, clothes torn, a silent cry on his parted lips.

And Scott’s…. Scott’s there cradling her to his chest, murmuring “No, Allison. Don’t do this. _Please_ don’t.” Each little shake of her body sends Allison’s outstretched and slack hand up off the floor before it falls lifelessly back to the ground.

He’s torn between running to Stiles, looking half-dead already and propped up between Kira and Noshiko, and Scott’s huddled form. But he can hear Stiles thready heart-beat from where he’s standing and if there’s a chance that Allison has even a little bit of life left...

 

 

* * *

 

 

Allison did have a pulse. It had been weak, but it still had been there.

Derek had known it was a lost cause but they had still taken her to the hospital, Derek driving as fast as he possibly could, Chris desperately holding his daughter in the back, hands clamping uselessly over her bloodied wound.

With the exception of Stiles, who he dumped and bracketed him into place by the passenger seat-belt, the others had followed on behind, trying to catch up.

Noshiko had left soon after, taking a reluctant Kira with her, and Derek had been left with four traumatised and shocked teenagers to look after.

Stiles was already looking better, coming around more before they’d even left the remains of the internment camp, and being forced to drink a tumbler of juice by Derek’s own hand when they had arrived at the hospital, but still remained a pasty white, the bruising around his eyes even more pronounced because of it. His hair was more than a little dishevelled, bordering on wild, and Derek knows it’s been days since it’s been combed or styled.

Derek could hear the echo of an anguished cry from Argent, hidden from behind closed doors, from where he was leaning against an unforgiving wall. He could tell that Isaac and Scott were hearing it too from where they were sat on the bench in front of him but they both held an air of _hope._

The door suddenly swung open and Melissa arrives, bringing the muffled cry of Argent with her. Lydia and Stiles stiffen and flinch at the noise. Stiles bites his lip and shakes his head uselessly while the red-head beside him breaks down into soft sobs.

“I’m sorry…” Melissa starts to say.

“Damn it,” Scott hisses loudly, jumping from the bench bitterly. “Damn it!” he yells again before smashing the wall nearest him.

Isaac doesn’t even blink and stares numbly ahead, ignoring Scott’s destruction of the wall but Lydia and Melissa both flinch at the ferocity of it.

“Scott!” Melissa cries in horror, immediately going to her son’s side.

Stiles simply stares at his friend with eyes full of terror. He brings a trembling hand up to his mouth and suddenly gags as though he’s going to lose the measly contents of his stomach and Derek uncurls his arms from chest, hearing the abrupt upturn of Stiles heartbeat. Instead of vomiting, Stiles eyes dart wildly around him, at each of them, before he bolts off the bench and tries to run.

Stiles, even on a good day, is no match for werewolf strength and Derek simply shoves himself off the wall and wraps his arms around him as he attempts to dodge past him. Despite Stiles obviously looking like a sick porcelain doll, he still has some speed to his charge and they both end up spinning, Stiles feet leaving the floor as Derek whirls him away from the direction of the door.

Stiles kicks and bucks wildly in the firm hold he has.

“Let go!” he cries, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Let me go!”

“No,” Derek growls at him. “Stop it. You’re not going anywhere. Okay?”

Stiles struggles against him a bit more then suddenly stops, going boneless in his arms. If it weren’t for the frustrated sob that escapes from him Derek would have thought the kid had passed out again. He sags even further and Derek lets their bodies slide to the floor, Stiles still plastered to his chest.

“Let me go,” Stiles whispers, voice catching on a sob.

“It’s not your fault,” Derek growls, the words tickling at Stiles hair. “It’s not your fault.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything in response so Derek leans forward and murmurs it closer to his ear. “Did you hear me? It’s not your fault.”

Stiles shrugs against him, head bowed, looking suddenly paler then he did moments before.

“Stiles?” Melissa says, leaving Scott’s side to edge forward, worried he might try and run again. “Maybe it’s time for you to get checked out, huh? You’re not looking so hot, kid.”

“I feel sick,” Stiles announces against him, voice distorted around a mouthful of saliva, and then he suddenly gags again to emphasise his point. Derek just about manages to lean Stiles forward, hand bracing up against his forehead, before Stiles vomits between their outstretched legs. It’s mostly bile and juice, which is clearly the only thing the younger man has consumed in a while.

“Okay,” Derek says and rubs Stiles back as he struggles to catch his breath between gags. He buries his nose into the back of Stiles shirt, seeking the teen’s familiar sweet scent as the acidic smell of vomit becomes too much.

When Stiles finally stops vomiting, Derek repositions Stiles so that he’s leaning back against him, Melissa hovering by.

“He feels too hot,” Derek says, bringing his hand back up to feel against his forehead. Stiles pants restlessly against him. “That fucker really messed with him.”

“Dehydration, malnourishment…” Melissa says, as she crouches down in front of them. “Stiles immune system must be pretty low right now.”

She reaches out a palm towards his face. It’s an innocent gesture. Probably one she’s done a million times before. But Stiles still reacts against it as though it’s the most acutely threatening thing he’s come across and flinches wildly against him.

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps, actually slapping her hand away.

“Okay,” she says in a placating manner, withdrawing her hand.

“Let Melissa help you,” Derek tells him firmly.

“I don’t want help,” Stiles says, staring at his hand as though he can’t quite believe he had just hit out at his friend’s mother. He almost sounds forlorn. “I deserve this. I deserve to feel like this. I should be dead.”

“Stiles!” Lydia gasps out loud and then breaks into soft sobs again. Derek bites his lip in frustration, looking at the three teens. He gets that they’ve lost they’re friend, someone close to each of them, but right now he can only cope with one of them breaking and shattering. And right now that was Stiles. Threadbare and thin Stiles. Shattered into pieces that Derek was barely keeping together.

“It’s only natural that Stiles feels like this right now,” Melissa says calmly. _God bless this woman_ , Derek thinks to himself. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t…” Scott spits out, staring them down in rage. “Allison died for you, Stiles!”

Stiles stiffens in Derek’s arm, breath catching in his throat.

“Scott!” Derek warns, horrified at what he’s hearing.

“Scott?” Stiles small voice squeezes out of him, clutching at Derek’s arm, fingers pinching at skin. The scent of guilt and self-blame suddenly gets over-shadowed by a wave of panic and shame.

“You don’t get to say that, Stiles…” Scott continues to yell, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Allison didn’t die so you can sit there and tell us you want to be dead.”

“Scott! Stop it…” Lydia cries, by his side in an instant. She wraps her small hand around his bicep and pulls. “Allison wasn’t there because of Stiles. She was there because of me.”

Derek knows what she truly means by the grief and self-loathing in her voice.

_Stop saying that. Because that means she’s dead because of me._

“Get up,” Scott orders angrily, pulling his arm out of her hold. “Get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

And Stiles does. At least he tries, all shaking limbs of him.

“Stop it,” Derek orders both of them, partly because Stiles was currently as weak as a kitten and hardly in any fit state to deal with an Alpha caught up in his own grief. It was the grief that was talking, Derek was sure of it, but Stiles fragility and vulnerability made him more than susceptible to the meaning behind the words.

Scott gulps and glances away. When he looks back there’s fresh tears making their way down his face.

“I _need_ you,” he says simply. “You’re my best friend, Stiles and I need you.”

Stiles mewls in his throat, air and a sob trapped there, unable to move.

“Hey,” Derek barks at him, shaking him a little. “Stop that. Breathe.”

He looks back up to see that Lydia has wrapped her tiny little body around Scott in a fierce hug, the fight and anger seemingly all gone, a wilting frame left in its place. Isaac is still sitting on the bench, eyes puffy and red. He’s remained silent throughout the entire scene, his voice silent and lost against his own grief.

“Isaac? I know you’re hurting…” Derek says, watching as Isaac turns a numb look in his direction. “But I need you to take Scott and Lydia for some air.”

Isaac nods wordlessly, getting up and nodding at the two huddled together.

Stiles mewls again, caught in his own misery and turns in Derek’s arms, the same smell of shame washing over him. He pushes his hand up against his mouth, biting against the back of it in tortured despair.

“Don’t go far,” he tells them. “The cops will be hear soon. They’ll want to know what happened.”

They all know what to say. Argent had repeated it several times, probably with Allison already dead in his arms in the back of the SUV, but Stiles had hardly been with it enough to process it. Derek had repeated it again until he was sure that all four of them knew it by heart.

He turns his attention back to Stiles once the others had left, reaching out and snagging the hand out of his mouth.

“Stop it,” he instructs calmly. Despite the fact that Stiles felt warm, a probable fever rising, the rest of his body was cold to touch. In fact his hand was _freezing_. “Just breathe, Stiles.”

“Lets get him to one of the side rooms,” Melissa says, nodding to one of the side rooms. She gently squeezes his knee. Thankfully, this time, there’s no dramatic resistance. “Let me help you feel better, kiddo.”

“You okay to stand?” Derek asks.

Stiles nods, letting Derek do all the hard work. Stiles easily rises, immediately paling again and sagging into Derek’s side. Derek doesn’t know if he’s even aware he’s doing it, but he’s suddenly overcome with an intense need to shield Stiles from the rest of the world and the harsh reality the nogitsune has left behind. He ends up putting his arm around Stiles shoulders and pulling him against him into a half-hug, following Melissa to the room, encouraging Stiles when his feet falter.

“It’s my fault,” Stiles whispers, voice brushing against Derek’s neck.

“No, it’s not,” he quietly tells him back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the Sheriff and his deputy arrive Stiles is already attached to an IV drip that is blessedly pushing fluids and nutrients into his starved body. He resolutely refuses a sedative but Derek is 99.9 % sure that the kid is exhausted enough to _not_ need it.

Derek sees the Sheriff before Stiles even realises his dad’s in the hallway and the man in uniform raises questionable eyes when he spots Derek resting his warm hand against the coldness of Stiles arm and then the tension falls from the older man’s shoulder as he wearily nods at him. Derek nods back and continues to drain some of the physical pain from Stiles body, just enough to not make the kid too drowsy.

Stiles breaks into fresh round of sobs as soon as his dad enters the room and Derek immediately stands up and away from the bed, making room for the Sheriff to be by his son’s side.

“Oh, Stiles…” he says, practically crushing his son against him. He breaks free, taking the available seat, plastering his big hand against the side of Stiles face. “What the hell happened?” he turns to look at Derek as he says it.

“Allison’s dead,” Stiles sucks in a sob, practically choking on it.

“I know, kid. I know. The nurses told me,” he says. He swipes a thumb, catching an errant tear.

“I wasn’t there,” Derek says, feeling just as uncomfortable as the new deputy looks, invading on a father and son’s intimacy. Stiles raw and exposed. The Sheriff bewildered, at a loss as how to take his child’s pain away. “I got there after.”

Eventually, after Stiles crying had filtered to a few hiccupping sniffles, the sheriff reminds him that they need to take a statement.

“I just need you tell Parrish what happened,” his dad reassures him. “Take your time.”

Derek makes a move towards the door, “I’ll wait outside.”

“Are you coming back?” Stiles asks, voice sounding edgy and in search of something.

“Sure,” Derek tells him, watching as Stiles visibly relaxes.

“I’ll need a statement from you too,” Parrish says.

Derek nods and heads out of the hospital room door, letting it shut behind him.

He can hear Stiles recite his statement through the door.

 _“It happened so fast…”_ he starts. The kid is smart enough to change it up a little, so it sounds a little less verbatim, a little less Argent.

 _“Why were you even there?”_ Parrish asks.

 _“I got sick,”_ he says, faltering. A breath is levelled and the voice picks up again. _“They were driving me home. Allison had to pull over for me. I wasn’t even anywhere near the car. They took us by surprise…”_

By the time Stiles has finished, and Derek is giving his own statement, he can barely hear his own words over Stiles _“It’s all my fault, dad. It’s my fault Allison’s dead. It’s my fault”_ and his dad’s _“No, it’s not, sweetheart. It’s not. It’s not.”_

He slips backs in the room once the deputy leaves. Stiles has already fallen asleep, hand curled into his father’s grasp. They both end up watching him, sitting either side of the hospital bed.

“Thank you,” the sheriff finally says, filling the silence that’s engulfed the room. It’s hushed so as not to wake his son. “Thank you for being there for my son.”

Derek simply nods in response.

 

* * *

 

_fin_


End file.
